<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>petals in a storm by orphan_account</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22977133">petals in a storm</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Destiny, Gen, M/M, Magic, Nature, Wanderlust, geralt and company will appear eventually, other assorted fairytale elements</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:55:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>940</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22977133</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>the pain of bright lights smothered by darkness. little boys trapped in big empty houses, yearning for something more. he closes his eyes and listens to the wind sing. soon, she promises. he doesn't know if he believes her, but believing makes it hurts less. so he closes his eyes and believes her.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>petals in a storm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hello. have some jaskier being a little bundle of brightness despite the things i'm about to put him through. its more plotless poetic musings than anything else, so uh. yeah?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She holds him in her arms, a final kindness from the stern nursemaid before he is taken away. The birth had been difficult, she had been warned but she never truly believed the healers when they told her. She couldn’t imagine it. The little light within her that tumbled and danced when she put emotion to melody. He was her captive audience, never once judging her for the creaks and splinters in her voice. She would let herself imagine soft nights by the fire, two voices singing to ward off the cold. Hers, an untrained broken thing. His, bright and soaring. His little hands held in hers, swaying off-beat. Random little dittys, the thoughts in his mind slipping out, an unselfconscious song. Finding joy in the smallest of things. He would have loved the world the way she once did, and he never would have forgotten how.</p><p>The world is too large and too dark for her now. Her weary mind begs for sleep, her aching body begs it to never end. Her eyes strain against the dark, exhaustion pulls at her. In an act of rebellion, she curls herself around him as it pulls her down. The emptiness can try to take her, it’s a force no human can fight, but she’ll set her own terms. The night is so dark and the sky is so empty, she looks out the window and can’t see a single star. No sliver of moonlight reaches her or the cold boy in her arms. She loved him the moment she felt him stir within her, despite the little monster’s tendency to twist and kick at the most inconvenient times. He would have been full of light, she is sure. He would have shone brighter than anything. On the darkest of nights he would have been the gentle roar of a fire, fighting off the shadows. Bright eyes and a gentle voice.</p><p>His eyes never opened and blessed air never filled his lungs.</p><p>Breathing pains her. She closes her eyes and holds him a little tighter. There is a knock at her door and time is running out. She opens her mouth and-</p><p>---</p><p>He opens his mouth and-</p><p>---</p><p>He is a restless boy. His mind wandered in a way his feet could only long for. He is seven years old and he has never stepped into the world outside his house before. Sometimes he doubts he’ll ever get the chance to. He’s tried to weasel his way out before, so he has reason to suspect the worst. He’s never getting out. The main doors are too heavy, loud and conspicuous. The servant’s doors are easier to reach without suspicion, but he doesn’t want anyone to get in trouble because of him. The windows he can reach don’t open all the way, all he can do is fit his little hand through the gap and wiggle it around. Even that small victory feels like progress towards a goal that feels impossibly far away. His hand can touch the outside! He can feel the breeze dance between his fingers. He can smell flowers and food and he can hear the noise from outside. Even when the wind is calm and doesn’t waft through the window, all he has to do is lean in close to that little gap. He leans in, closes his eyes. He can still hear the music. Smell the flowers. For now, it's enough to simply close his eyes and get his fill from whatever the wind gives him.</p><p>He doesn’t like to think about the little gap and the out-of-reach things it brings. He would rather just listen to the wind. The wind sings about everything that goes on beyond his Father’s lands. She’s been everywhere! She’s gone to places he could never reach, even if he did manage to leave this house and ran very fast towards them. It hurts a little less when he thinks about it that way. Things he could reach if only given the chance ache more than the things that he could never ever have a chance of reaching. The wind would bring him treasures, not adventures he is missing out on.</p><p>The coast! The mountains! The edge of the world! There are so many beautiful places out there, and the wind brings little bits of them with her when she comes to visit. The smell of salt and sea breeze, she sings about the power of the waves and the tiny boats that set sail anyway.</p><p>[Tall mountains; cold, snow laced air followed by the oppressive weight of blood. She can’t help what she picks up along the way to him. She considers it a blessing that he doesn’t recognize the pang of darkness for what it is. It will become familiar one day, but for now-]</p><p>He sits at his desk and tries to focus on his lessons as the wind sneaks in through a crack in the window. She plays with his hair in greeting before whispering a new song into his ears. His lessons are, by then, long forgotten. He loses himself in the melody.</p><p>---</p><p>His father named him Julian Alfred Pankratz. That name is said with no particular love or affection, but that doesn’t bother him very much at all. If he had to choose, he would much rather pick the name the wind gives him. She knows him better than anyone, loves him more than anything. When his lessons drag on and his restless feet scrape against the wooden floor, she sings about little yellow flowers and where they grow. Ponds, fields, meadows that stretch on into the sky.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>suggestions are welcome, because i only have a vague idea for the beginning and the end of this. we are getting there! i just dont know how!!</p><p>- fic and chapter title from "fair" by the amazing devil, because joey batey's voice is a gift</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>